Chapter 3
Molly didn’t want to close the front door behind her, but neither was she prepared to leave it open and risk Bill having second thoughts and following her inside. Or anyone else, for that matter. She was well aware the park was frequented by youngsters, and she had been guilty of spending some of her teenage years in this very park herself, playing hide and seek (mostly praying she’d be found by Merton Hinde in the hope he’d kiss her, although he never did). Plus other games which had involved lots of running around and screaming. Alcohol was often consumed, along with other things. Molly had drunk the alcohol, but hadn’t fancied the other stuff and she certainly didn’t smoke, her reluctance giving rise to the nickname “boring Brown”.
Molly hadn’t cared.
OK, maybe she had cared a little, but not enough to have a puff of whatever it was her friends had smoked. She had stayed sober and had spent her time alternating between mooning after Merton and gazing longingly at the cottage. Even back then, she had a feeling that one day she would live in it, and today was the day.
She still couldn’t believe it.
It was dark inside, due to the boarded-up windows, which was the first thing she would have to address. She couldn’t do anything without light, and until the electricity was reconnected she was scuppered if she wanted to do any cleaning. Which she did. Actually, cleaning may well have to drop to the bottom of her To Do List, because the first thing she needed to do was to chip all the old render off the walls, before the electrician came to rewire it. Then she would have to arrange for the walls to be replastered. Only after that had been done would she be able to give the place the thorough clean she was itching to give it.
Holding her phone in front of her, she walked deeper into the cottage and began tapping on the walls. They sounded quite solid, and she guessed the interior walls were made of stone, not wood and plasterboard.
Even though she had never owned a property herself and had always lived with her mum and dad, being an estate agent meant she had picked up a lot of information about building works, renovations, and what needed to be done. Right now she was going to have to put every bit of her skill and knowledge to the test to turn this derelict run-down property into the home of her dreams.
Molly drifted into the living room and her heart lifted when she saw the old fireplace again. Another thing to add to her list was to get the chimney swept and checked, but considering it was only May that was something she could afford to leave for a few months. Next came the kitchen with its butler sink and rickety old standalone cupboards. She quite liked those, but when she put a hand on the one nearest to her, it wobbled alarmingly. It was clearly rotted throughout, so there would be no option but to throw it in the skip, which meant yet more expense. However, she knew she could pick some up from IKEA if she wanted to replicate the look without spending a fortune. And anyway, she wasn’t sure a fitted kitchen would look right in the cottage.
As she made her way slowly around the ground floor and then up the stairs, tapping the walls as she went, she came to a decision. She wasn’t looking forward to the hard work and mess that chipping off the old render would entail, but how about if she bought one of those gadgets that checked where the electricity cables were in a wall? When she knew where they were located, it would make more sense to chase out a channel around the old cables so the new ones could be laid inside, then she could get someone in to put a skim of plaster over everything. Not only would it save her a lot of expense, but it would also save her a lot of time.
Not that any of this work prevented her from moving in today, because it wouldn’t. Molly had been absolutely determined from the start, that as soon as she picked up the keys she was going to spend her first night as a home-owner here. Although, if she was honest, she wasn’t particularly looking forward to it. The cottage was a far cry from her parents’ comfy house and her snug bedroom. She didn’t have a bed for one thing, neither was there any hot water, and cooking was something she could only dream about for the time being.
Nevertheless, she had come prepared. In the boot of her car was an old camping stove complete with a gas canister, a kettle to go on the top of it, a pint of milk, some tea bags and a mug. Not only that, she had a blow-up bed, a foot pump and some bedding. Oh, and a crowbar – a necessity if she wanted to try to remove those darned boards covering the windows.
As far as Molly was concerned, she was good to go, aside from shopping for cleaning products. She had meant to do that yesterday, but she simply hadn’t got round to it. She would fetch everything in from the car first, and then she’d pop to the supermarket.
She was a bit reluctant to walk through the park carrying an armful of bedding and a crowbar, but it was only when she was about to relock the front door that she wondered what those other keys could be for. Guessing one of them might be for the main gates, she walked over to them, and after furtively checking to make sure no one was watching, she tried each likely-looking key in turn.
Voila! The fourth one turned stiffly in the lock, and she fist pumped the air.
Heaving with all her might, Molly tugged and yanked at the gates, and they reluctantly opened with a creak that set her teeth on edge and had her mentally adding WD40 to her list of imminent purchases.
The gates were large and heavy, and she wondered whether it would be a good idea to park a car outside the cottage like she’d planned on doing, because it would mean having to open and close these things every time she wanted to go in and out of the park. The other alternative was where she had left the car this morning, which was in a side street a short walk away. Maybe she could have a word with the council and ask if she could leave the gates open permanently, then had second thoughts as she envisaged joyriders in stolen cars tearing around the flower beds at all hours of the night.
Ha! What flower beds? She could see the vague outlines of where they used to be, but that was about it. They were seriously overgrown, with grass and weeds choking them. It was quite difficult to tell where flower beds ended, and lawn began. Or even where flowerbeds ended and the paths began, for that matter.
She hurried over to her car and got in. Feeling like an intruder, she manoeuvred the vehicle through the gates and drove slowly over to the cottage, pulling up close to the front door. She wouldn’t bother to lock the gates for the moment, because she would be back out through them as soon as she emptied the contents of her boot.
Molly was nothing if not a planner, and expecting the floor to be as dusty today as it had been on the day she’d first viewed the property, she had brought some large plastic sheeting with her. So the first thing she did was to unfold it and put it on the floor of the bedroom that she intended to be the master. Then she unpacked the blow-up bed, popped it on top of the plastic and placed the bedding beside it.
When she had unpacked the rest of her stuff, she locked the cottage once more, got back in her car, drove out through the gates, clambered out, dragged the gates shut, squealing and protesting (the gates, not her), relocked them, then drove off.
Phew! That wasn’t a performance she wanted to repeat two or three times a day, thank you very much. But that was a worry for another time. For now, she would have to put up with it, because she had more important things on her mind.
***
It was safe to say that Molly had never used a crowbar before. Why would she? It wasn’t the sort of thing many twenty-nine-year-old women would have a great deal of experience of. However, once she had got into the swing of it, she found prising the large woodchip boards away from the windows to be remarkably satisfying, even if it was hard work and took three times as long as she thought it would. But, oh my word, once she had got the first one off, she was filled with joy.
For the first time in at least two decades, if not longer, light flooded into the living room of the cottage in Sweet Meadow Park. Admittedly, the light was filtered by several layers of grime, both inside and out, but she didn’t care. Light was light, and with the afternoon disappearing fast Molly would take any light on offer. It did make her a little nervous to think that once the boards had been removed anyone could peer in until she managed to get some curtains up at the windows, but the thought of being locked inside with the boards still in place filled her with unease.
Molly had no clue where today had gone: one minute she had been anxiously waiting for confirmation that the finances were all in order so she could collect the keys, and the next it was five-thirty in the afternoon and all she had done was jimmy one board off one window.
Wanting to get the ground floor done before she stopped for the day, Molly worked her way around the building in a clockwise direction. She had started to the left of the front door, then went around to the side of the house and prised off a much smaller board which she guessed covered the pantry window (having a pantry sounded very grown up – no one else she knew had one), and then on to the kitchen.
The door to the back of the house was also boarded up, but it took considerably more effort to free it and she was hot, thirsty and panting by the time she’d finished. Debating whether to leave the final window until tomorrow, she made her way to the front of the house once more and gazed at it critically. It did look rather odd with one of the downstairs windows on one side of the door free, and the other one not.
Molly deliberately didn’t look at the upstairs windows because she needed a ladder to get to those, and she wasn’t looking forward to that. She didn’t like heights for a start, and she also wasn’t sure whether she would have the strength to hang onto the ladder and yank the boards off.
She’d tackle this last ground floor one, then she’d call it a day. She was desperate for a shower, although that was out of the question until she’d bought one of those hoses that could be attached to the taps, and neither did she have any hot water. She was also starving, having not had any lunch. She would have to make do with boiling some water on the borrowed camping stove and try to wash as best she could. And as for food, she couldn’t face trying to tackle the old range yet. The thought of cooking on such a monstrosity made her shudder. Although, unless she wanted to have it taken out, she knew she’d have to get to grips with it eventually. There was no point in having it sitting in the kitchen just for show. Besides, she knew that in the winter she’d probably be grateful for it. Saying that though, she wasn’t going to go to all the effort of firing it up just to warm up a tin of soup, so another item on her long list of purchases was a new cooker. Until it arrived, she had a funny feeling she might exist on takeaways.
Her mouth watering with anticipation, her mind drifted to the fish and chip supper she had promised herself this evening. So the sooner she got on with taking this remaining board off, the sooner she could eat.
Molly was about to heft the crowbar once more, when her phone rang, startling her. With a little shriek she dropped the crowbar, narrowly missing her toes, and danced away from it while simultaneously trying to extricate her phone from her pocket.
‘Dad!’ she cried breathlessly. ‘You almost scared me to death.’
Her father’s soothing voice chuckled down the phone. ‘Why? What were you doing?’
‘Er, I hope you don’t mind, but I borrowed your crowbar.’
‘I don’t mind at all,’ he said, ‘but what I do mind is you trying to use it on those boards.’
‘How did you know—?’
‘Molly, I’m your father, it’s my job to know. Anyway, I guessed you wouldn’t wait until your mum and I came back from holidays.’
Sheepishly, Molly pulled a face. ‘I wanted to do it myself,’ she said.
‘You always did want to do everything yourself. You’re far too independent for your own good, missy. Have you managed to get any of them off?’
‘I’ve got one more to remove from the downstairs,’ she said proudly, then she sobered. ‘I’ve still got the upstairs to do, though.’
‘I hope you’re not thinking of tackling those on your own?’ her father cautioned.
‘I was thinking of it, but I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to manage it,’ she admitted.
‘Thank goodness you’ve seen sense. We’ll be home on Saturday, so I’ll help you take them off on Sunday. Do you think you can wait until then?’
‘I’ll have to, won’t I?’ Molly shot back, but she was laughing as she said it so he wouldn’t take offence or think she was being stroppy.
Molly could hear her mum in the background and her dad said, ‘Hang on, your mum wants a word.’ There was a muffled discussion as her father handed the phone over.
‘Molly? How are you? I hope you’re not overdoing things? Are you eating? What are you having for dinner?’
Molly stifled a giggle. ‘If you let me get a word in edgeways, I’ll tell you.’
‘Your dad said you’ve taken those boards off all by yourself. I wish you wouldn’t, you’ll do yourself an injury. You should wait for him to give you a hand: he’s stronger than you, and he knows what he’s doing.’
‘I know what I’m doing too.’ Molly rolled her eyes. Her mum loved her to bits and she had her best interests at heart, but sometimes she could be a bit of a fusspot. ‘If it’s any consolation, Dad is going to help me take the upstairs ones off on Sunday.’
‘Thank God! I have visions of you falling off a ladder.’
‘To put your mind at rest, I haven’t got a ladder, and even if I did, I wouldn’t go up it.’ Actually, she was telling a bit of a porky because she did have a ladder, but it was only a step ladder and it wouldn’t reach the upstairs windows.
‘I hope you’re eating properly,’ her mum said, changing the subject.
‘Yes, Mum, I am eating.’ They’d only been gone two days! Anyone would think she wasn’t able to feed herself.
Her mum carried on, ‘There’s a lasagne in the freezer. I meant to remind you to take it out last night, but I forgot. If you take it out of the freezer now and leave it in the fridge to defrost, you can have it tomorrow. You’ll have to fend for yourself this evening, but there are some new potatoes in the cupboard, and a piece of white fish you can cook from frozen, if you fancy it. Pop a few peas onto boil and make some parsley sauce, and you’re good to go.’
Molly didn’t like to tell her mum that she wasn’t at home, and that she had no intention of being there this evening. Or any other evening. Her mother would only worry, so Molly reasoned that what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. Of course she would pop in to see her parents (probably more than they’d appreciate), but her parents’ house was no longer her home. That had changed the minute she’d picked up the keys to her very own cottage.
‘It’s OK, Mum, I’ve already set my heart on a fish and chip supper,’ Molly said.
‘Oh, right, well… enjoy. And don’t work too hard. I’ve got to go, your dad is getting some drinks in. We’re having a cool down at the bar before we go back to the room for a shower and get ready for dinner.’
‘Have a wonderful time, Mum; love you. Give my love to Dad.’
‘Will do. Love you too.’ Then her mum was gone, leaving Molly with images in her head of her parents sitting at the sun-drenched bar of the all-inclusive hotel they were staying at, and feeling envious.
However, when she looked back at her cottage again, her envy quickly dissipated: she wouldn’t swap a week in Menorca for the excitement she felt today. It was a shame her parents couldn’t have been with her when she’d opened the front door for the first time as the property’s new owner, but then again, she knew what her mum and dad were like. Her dad would have spent half an hour wandering around tutting, shaking his head, and frowning, and her mother would have done her utmost to persuade Molly to get the professionals in to gut the place.
But that wasn’t what Molly wanted at all. This was her house, and she was going to renovate it her way.
***
For the middle of May the weather was quite warm. It was certainly warm enough to tempt Jack out for an evening run. He had finished work early, which was the advantage of being on flexi-time, so he had decided to do a longer route this evening. He’d had a nightmare of a day at work, and he couldn’t wait to get his trainers on and pound his frustrations into oblivion. Some people had a pint to relax: Jack ran. He would come back sweaty, tired and aching, but feeling rebalanced, and whilst his worries might not have gone away, they were usually lightened a little... and today, he needed all the lightening he could get.
In all honesty, he should start sorting the house out this evening, but he couldn’t face it. He would bite the bullet tomorrow, beginning with a visit to the DIY store first thing in the morning to buy paint and brushes, and maybe a dust sheet or two because he didn’t want to ruin the carpets by dripping paint on them. They could also do with a good clean, so he decided he would hire one of those machines; it would be one of the last things to be done before the estate agent came to take photos.
As he ran, Jack thought about what he needed to do and the order in which he needed to do it, and he decided to tackle one room at a time rather than try to do them all at once. He would only end up running around like a headless chicken.
He’d start with the living room because he felt that would have the most impact. It also was the room that needed the least sorting out, as it only contained two large sofas, a TV, a bookcase and a small table. Or maybe he would tackle the spare room first, as it was probably the worst. Instead of putting things up in the attic, he tended to open the door, shove something in and close the door again. It had been that way ever since Della had moved out. No doubt most of the stuff in it could go to the charity shop or could be binned. He had no idea why he’d kept most of it. And the attic was quite full too, but at least no one would be able to see up there. He hoped. Having never sold a property before, he didn’t know what potential buyers were likely to get up to. Would they want to root around in the eaves? He couldn’t remember doing that when he and Della had viewed this house. The two of them had been so smitten with it they hadn’t even bothered to check that the roof was OK, let alone go into the attic. Luckily for them it had been sound, with no leaks or loose tiles; although saying that, the survey would have picked up anything untoward.
Running steadily, his legs and his breath in rhythm, Jack pounded along the pavement, following his regular route. Every now and again he checked his watch to make sure he wasn’t any slower than usual. It had been a long time since he’d hit his personal best, and he didn’t think he’d be doing so today. Still, it was nice to get out. Not only was the exercise good for him physically, but he also found it beneficial to his mental well-being. He always felt calmer and more centred after a run.
He knew he was on the home straight when his feet took him into the park, and he picked up speed. He could hear a pizza and a cold glass of fizzy pop calling to him: although he wasn’t hungry right now (he never was immediately after exercise) by the time he had a shower and got changed, he would be starving. Brunch seemed an awfully long time ago.
Every time he came this way he thought it was a shame that the park wasn’t in a better state. But what could he do? It’d had enough money spent on it in the past, but it hadn’t been appreciated. Despite the clean-up crew having recently done a litter pick, Jack was disappointed to see more discarded fast-food wrappers and plastic bottles littering the path and the grass verges. An old bike poked out from an overgrown flower bed, which he could have sworn hadn’t been there the last time he’d come this way. Didn’t people have any pride in their surroundings?
He supposed any clear-up was down to him and his department, but he simply couldn’t justify it. Sending a crew in every day simply wasn’t cost effective. And if people couldn’t be bothered to take their litter home with them, they didn’t deserve to have nice flower beds and well-tended shrubs to look at.
Perhaps he was being harsh, but there were so many more deserving cases council funds could be spent on.
Good grief! Someone had even vandalised the old park keeper’s cottage, he noticed as he ran past.
Woah!He skidded to a halt.
The vandals were still there!
Without thinking, he ran towards them. Or rather, towards her, because he could only see one person, and that was a girl. She seemed to be having trouble removing one of the boards from a downstairs window, and he wondered whether the rest of her mates had scarpered, leaving her to carry the can.
‘Excuse me!’ he called, sounding rather officious even to himself. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’
The girl turned around and he was surprised to see she wasn’t as young as he’d assumed. This was no teenager: this was a grown woman, who should know better.
‘What does it look like I’m doing?’ she barked crossly. ‘I can’t get this damn thing off.’
‘Want any help?’ he replied sarcastically. He wished he had brought his phone with him so he could call the police.
The woman stopped tugging at the board and picked up a crowbar that had been propped against the wall.
Jack flinched. That was a blunt instrument if ever he saw one.
She thrust it towards him, and he danced back a step.
‘I wouldn’t normally ask for help,’ she said, ‘but it’ll be dark soon and I’m hungry, tired and cross. So I would appreciate it if you could lend me your muscles.’
‘Should you be doing that?’ he asked. She didn’t look like a vandal – but then again, he wasn’t sure what a typical vandal was supposed to look like.
The woman rolled her eyes. ‘You’re not the first person to ask me that question today,’ she said. ‘Yes, I should be doing this. I own the place.’
A light bulb went on in Jack’s head as he remembered seeing a memo about its sale, and he raised his eyebrows. Good luck, he thought. He didn’t envy her moving in here, but he wasn’t about to tell her that.
Wordlessly he took the crowbar from her and wedged the business end in between the top of the board and the window frame itself, and put his back into it. With a grunt he felt the board give, and with a bit of persuasion it came away in his hand.
He gave the woman her crowbar back, and eased the board to the ground, mindful of splinters, then he looked at her.
Her expression had softened and he realised she was rather pretty, despite the smudges of dirt across her face. Dark hair, caught up on the top of her head, fell in wisps around her cheeks and the back of her neck, and large blue eyes stared back at him. Her lips were curved into a smile, and his eyes were drawn to them. They looked very kissable.
‘Thank you, I really do appreciate it,’ she said. ‘I would offer you a drink, but all I’ve got is tap water.’
‘I’m good,’ he said. ‘Can you manage?’ He jerked his head towards a pile of boards stacked neatly to one side of the weed-infested path.
‘I’m good,’ she echoed with a smirk. ‘I’m stronger than I look.’
Without meaning to, Jack scanned her from head to toe. Then wished he hadn’t as he realised she was staring at him, her eyebrows raised.
‘I’m sure you are,’ he said noncommittally. ‘Right, if you can manage, I’d better get going.’
‘Thanks again,’ she called, as he dashed down the path.
He didn’t reply; instead, he waved a hand in the air without looking around and carried on going.
Better her than me, he thought as he ran the last half a mile or so to his house. Never in a million years would he have bought that ramshackle old place, especially where it was located. She would have her work cut out to make it look decent, and she might find she’d have even more of a challenge to keep it looking that way. The old park keeper’s cottage had been broken into several times in the past, and every so often he’d had to send a team out to board it back up and make it secure. Ideally the building should have been demolished years ago.
All Jack hoped was that the woman hadn’t paid a lot for it.
He was interested in any progress she made though, and he was already looking forward to seeing it the next time he came out for a run – although goodness knows when that would be, because he had a whole house to decorate.
But as he sprinted along his road, his thoughts weren’t on his own property and neither were they on the park keeper’s cottage.
They were on the woman who had bought it.